


rust and fur and reception sticks

by rexcorvidae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Harry Potter, Child Abuse, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Remus Lupin has Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, as a treat, briefly but it occurs, he may have a little emotional healing, its immediately post war so yknow, vaguely but it comes up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexcorvidae/pseuds/rexcorvidae
Summary: Remus Lupin was 22, and broke, and barely capable of taking care of himself.These were things that he knew.But he knew this, too:He couldnotallow Lily and James’s son to stay in that house.-remus makes an impulsive decision, and has to deal with the consequences.he doesn't regret it nearly as much as he probably should.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Harry Potter
Comments: 75
Kudos: 795





	rust and fur and reception sticks

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song [pink and blue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vn5oFJ-kDWU) by the mountain goats, which gives me BIG remus and/or sirius raising harry vibes

Remus Lupin was 22, and broke, and barely capable of taking care of himself.

These were things that he knew.

They were facts, as objective as the ever-dwindling numbers in both his Gringotts’ _and_ muggle bank accounts, unchanging and incontrovertible.

But he knew this, too:

He could _not_ allow Lily and James’s son to stay in that house.

He hadn’t even _meant_ to seek Harry out and wasn’t that indicative of some sort of fate, of some destiny, that he had found him anyways?

He’d gone to Surrey on a long-shot – he’d overheard tell of another werewolf who was setting up a small potions shop there, in one of the secret, charmed places tucked into the otherwise mundane landscape.

It was quite a ways away from his cottage in Wales, and there weren’t many safe places to apparate outside of muggle sight nearby, but Remus was desperate, and he hoped that a fellow werewolf might be more sympathetic to his situation.

He was leaving the interview, not particularly hopeful (the man _had_ been sympathetic but informed him gently that he wasn’t seeing enough business yet to _justify_ paying an extra hand, but he’d pass Remus’s name along to anyone he knew looking for work) when he heard it.

In a cozy house in Godric’s Hollow, a thousand years ago, Sirius had made Harry laugh for the first time. He, James, and Peter had been competing for it all night, Remus and Lily teasing them from the sidelines, and James had only just dashed out of the room for the camera when Sirius managed it by conjuring little bright green frogs to leap above Harry’s head.

The boy had let out a delighted giggle, chubby arms reaching out to catch the creatures jumping above him, and Sirius swung him up into his arms with a _whoop_ , declaring himself the best godfather of all time.

( _Had he known, then?_ It hurt to think about, sharp and raw, but Remus couldn’t help but wonder _. Had Sirius cheered and blown raspberries into the baby-fat of Harry’s cheeks and known he would betray the boy’s parents in less than a year’s time?_ He didn’t know, would _never_ know, and didn’t that just _ache_?)

Lily and James had been cold in the ground for nearly 6 months, but Remus would never forget that laugh – certainly not _now_ , when it rang out from the park he was passing, clear as day.

His head whipped around, and he saw him, sitting in the grass, just feet away from him-

_Harry._

He was just a bit taller than he'd been when Remus last saw him and was missing much of his baby fat, but Remus would recognize those eyes anywhere – and his hair, an untamable mess, just like his father’s – and from this distance, Remus could just make out the scar on his forehead.

Remus had loved Harry – of _course_ he had – but he’d never been particularly touchy with him. That had always been Sirius, who would sweep his godson into his arms, who would toss him up into the air, who would fall asleep with him drooling on his chest, draped across the Potter’s old second-hand sofa. Remus played with him too, but since Harry was born, he’d always just seemed so _small_.

(The first time James gave him to Remus to hold, all he’d been able to picture was what it looked like when his hands turned into great, deadly claws, and _Harry_ , tiny and fragile and soft, trapped inside, and-)

So, no. He’d never been the most tactile one.

But seeing him now, Remus was struck by a sudden urge, so strong it was almost suffocating, to sprint towards him, to wrap him up in his arms. He’d been so lost in his own grief these past few months – grieving for James, for Lily, for Peter. Trying to breathe without the part of his heart that Sirius had carved out and stomped on, trying to grapple with the reality of being the only Marauder left, when he’d always assumed he’d be the first one to go.

He’d barely spared Harry a second thought – couldn’t really bear to, just another reminder of how much had been _lost_ \- but now he was _here_ , Lily and James’s son, the most important thing in their life, and how could Remus have ever-?

Harry was still giggling, rocking back and forth, and upon closer observation, Remus saw the leaves on the trees near him swaying in time with his movements – holding their positions unnaturally when Harry stilled, a sure confirmation that it was the toddler’s doing.

Pride, odd and foreign and _warm_ , burst in his chest at the sight – not even two, and already showing signs of magic, _powerful_ magic, look at how many trees he was controlling, and-

“ _What_ do you think you’re _doing?”_ A shrill voice shattered the peaceful silence.

Remus had only met Petunia Dursley a few times, during brief moments in the summer before their seventh year, on the rare occasion her presence overlapped with her sister’s in their parent’s home.

Each time, Petunia would give them all a disgusted glance, before turning away with a sniff and flouncing out of the house. She didn’t look wildly different now, aside from the slightly more expensive dress she wore.

“ _What_ have I told you,” She snapped, “about doing your- your _freak_ tricks- and outside of the house, people could _see_ , are you trying to _humiliate_ us?”

Harry’s head whipped around towards his aunt, the leaves immediately going limp without his control, and Remus noted with some alarm that the boy looked _scared_.

The next few moments seemed to happen in slow motion. Petunia closed the distance between herself and Harry in long strides, Harry flinched away from her, and Petunia-

She _hit_ him.

Hand striking out quick as a snake, she _hit_ him, hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground with a little cry that ripped Remus’s heart in two, before yanking his arm up in a cruel grip and dragging him off, bellowing for someone named _Dudley_ to come here, they were going _home_.

He stood there, frozen, as she dragged the boy off - James and Lily’s _son_ , talking to him like he was worth nothing, less than nothing.

_Freak_.

Remus apparated home so fast he was lucky he didn’t splinch himself, barely taking time to recover before sprinting over to his desk for a piece of parchment.

He wrote a panicked, harried letter to Dumbledore about what he saw, and then, for good measure, wrote another one to McGonagall. He sent his owl off with orders to _hurry_ , and then spent the next two hours pacing his flat and fighting back nausea, imagining that he could hear the ghosts of James and Lily screaming their outrage into the silence.

McGonagall wrote back first, promising that she would bring his concerns to the headmaster.

Dumbledore did not write back at all.

So, Remus paced, and he paced, and he _thought_ – he'd just _found_ Harry – couldn’t sense any type of cloaking or magical protection around him at _all_ – and what if he’d been a _Death-Eater_? How long would it have taken for one of them to just snatch him up and disappear? And what chance would Petunia have, if she even bothered to protect the boy in the first place? What was Dumbledore _thinking_ , placing him with muggles, muggles who didn’t, _couldn’t_ understand the danger he was in-

He was barely conscious of apparating, and it was only by sheer luck that he didn’t leave behind a limb in his haste to return to Surrey.

He didn’t know where Petunia lived, of course, but it was laughably, _terrifyingly_ easy to get the information, and within the hour he found himself on Privet Drive, pacing in front of No. 4.

A simple illusion spell served to keep curious muggle eyes off of him, so long as he didn’t do anything to draw attention to himself. It gave him precious time to _think_ because now that he was here, he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

He couldn’t just go in there and start _yelling_ , not without Petunia or her husband calling the police, and while muggle police would hardly be difficult to avoid, it would also make seeing Harry again that much harder.

Perhaps it had been – not a mistake, certainly, you don’t hit a child on _accident,_ but - a bad moment? 

Something done out of frustration and impulse that she deeply regretted, a single bad event that Remus was basing all of his judgment off of – but then, Harry had seemed scared, but not _surprised_ , and there was the way he flinched away from her when she raised her hand like he'd _known_ what was coming-

The lights in Number Four, Privet Drive, begin to flicker at a pace too regular to be an accident.

Heart in his throat, Remus looks around at the other houses on the street. Not a thing out of place. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Just Number Four.

Before he realized what he was doing, Remus sprinted forward, mind flying to worst-case scenarios. There had been reports, towards the end of the war, of death-eaters having _fun_ with their muggle targets – imitating tropes in muggle horror movies to frighten them before they died.

Remus imagined the same thing happening inside as he ran across the neatly manicured lawn and up to the front door. From outside, he could hear (just barely) the sound of a man yelling, and a door slamming shut, but nothing else – no sound of china breaking, or shouting of spells, or screams of fear

He knocked, even so (only just restraining the urge to blast the door open himself), just to be _sure_.

A red-faced, burly man opened the door furiously, just wide enough to stick his head out. _“What?”_ He snapped, whispering and glancing side to side like the neighbors were watching, “ _What_ , what could you possibly want at this ungodly hour-“ Only then did he seem to actually _look_ at Remus, but his face only grew more disgusted- “Get out of here you- you _vagrant_! This is a nice neighborhood, and I’ll not have _you-_ “

“I’m a friend of the Potters.” Remus responded coldly, “I’d like to see how Harry’s doing.”

“You-“

Before he could say anything further, there was a thumping from behind him, and childish, _familiar_ voice began to yell, slightly muffled.

“ _Out! Out! Outoutout!”_

_“Shut up!”_ The man barked over his shoulder. Then, turning back to Remus, with a poisonous hiss: “And _you_ – I don’t want any of your kind- you- you _freaks_ in _my neighborhood,_ in my _home_!”

He’d barely gotten the words out before he looked down to find Remus pointing a wand at him.

And were circumstances different, he’d feel guilty – intimidating muggles, _threatening_ them to let him into their own homes – but the childish shout of pain and surprise Harry gave when Petunia grabbed his arm is was still ringing in his ears, and all he could feel was anger.

“I want to see Harry.” Remus told him, voice dangerously calm. He could just make out Petunia behind Vernon’s head, looking at him with wide, furious eyes and a squalling toddler on her hip. “Lily and James were _very_ powerful. You knew that, right Petunia?” He got a stiff nod in return and smiled - a sharp, venomous thing. “How powerful do you think their friends must be to have kept up with them?”

Vernon glared at him, then, obviously torn between his fear of what Remus could do, and the shame and disgust of letting one of _his kind_ into his home.

“ _Fine_.” He scoffed. “Petunia, take Dudley upstairs.”

She obeyed without a word, shooting him another hateful glare and clutching her son tighter as she left.

Vernon started forward and Remus followed, only to bump into his back when the other man stopped after a few steps.

Remus opened his mouth to repeat his demand, only to see Vernon bang a meaty fist against a cupboard door that Remus hadn’t even _noticed_ that had a heavy padlock on the outside. With dawning horror, he realized that the crying sounds he’d been hearing – which he assumed were from some hidden bedroom off to the side – were coming from-

From the fucking _cupboard._

Vernon unlocked the door with a key he pulled from his pocket, and threw it open violently to reveal-

_Harry_. Tiny and trembling and red-faced, scrambling away from the door, with a bruise on his cheek that was _not_ there this afternoon, cradling his little arm to his chest, and Remus couldn’t _breathe_ for the _fury-guilt-regret_ coursing through him.

And then, those green eyes landed on _him_. “Moony?” He hiccupped, still teary but hopeful. “Moony?”

“The boy’s _fine_.” Vernon snapped, “As you can see, so now you can _get out_ before I call the police.”

Remus didn’t respond. Barely registered that he was speaking. He took a step forward, crouching to get a better view of Harry and of the dingy cupboard he’d been living in – was _locked_ in.

Nothing but a single lightbulb and a bare playpen with a ratty baby blanket inside _._

“ _Harry_.” He heard himself say, ragged and heartbroken.

And suddenly, he found himself with an armful of toddler. “ _Moony!”_ Harry cheered, right in his ear, and _god,_ Remus had never loved anything so much as he loved the child in his arms right now, who was clinging to his neck like he was the only thing keeping him adrift, and _fuck_ , why had he waited so _long-_

“That’s _enough!”_ Vernon snapped. “You’ve seen the boy, he’s _fine_ , now get-“ He reached for Harry, grabbing a handful of his baggy shirt. “ _Out_ -!”

Remus pulled out his wand on pure muscle memory, felt his face twist into a threatening snarl and was distantly grateful that Harry’s face was buried in his neck where he couldn’t see it.

“Get. Your hands. _Off_ of him.” Vernon did so, but was practically _shaking_ with rage, and some small, rational part of his brain noted that he needed to end this confrontation _quickly_.

And he knew that he should listen to it, he did, but- “You kept him in a _cupboard?_ ”

“What else were we supposed to do?” The other man barked incredulously, “Stupid brat kept climbing out of his crib, wailing and waking up the whole house at odd hours, I have a _job_ -!”

And there was a lot Remus wanted to say to that. A lot he wanted to _do_. But Harry was shifting and whimpering in his arms every time Vernon yelled, and it occurred to him that the boy must be _terrified._

“Hey Harry,” He said softly, ignoring Vernon entirely. “You want to get out of here?”

He got only the barest of nods before Harry caught sight of his uncle’s furious expression and hid his face against Remus’s shoulder again

And that- that was all the evidence he needed.

“Right then.” He said flatly. “We’ll be going now.”

“ _What?_ ” Vernon roared, “You can’t-“

Remus stood, using one arm to support Harry while keeping his wand level with Vernon's chest . That was all it took. “Try me.”

“Fine.” The other man spat venomously, “Take him. But don’t you bring him back, you hear me? He shows up on my doorstep again and he goes _straight_ to child services!”

He regarded Vernon coldly. “Don’t worry. You will _never_ see him again.”

He left the house without another word.

It was only when they were a safe distance away from Number Four, Privet Drive, that Harry spoke again.

“Moony stay?” He asked, eyes unmistakably hopeful.

The thought of Harry having spent _six months_ in that _place_ , being hurt and called _freak_ while Remus wallowed in his own despair made him nauseous with guilt. He thought, at that moment, that he’d promise Harry the moon if he asked for it.

“Yeah,” He replied, voice thick and croaky, “I promise.”

-

For the second it took for him to Apparate back to his flat, for the first time since Minerva McGonagall had knocked on his door that terrible Halloween night, eyes puffy and red-rimmed, Remus felt something like peace.

Then, his flat rematerialized around him, and Harry started _wailing_.

_Stupid_ , he cursed himself, immediately putting a hand on the toddler’s back and swaying him as he’d seen James and Lily do many times, _idiot, side-along Apparation is terrible enough the first time, but for a baby-_

“Shh,” He cooed, rocking back and forth as he paced around his flat, “Shh, I’m sorry, Harry, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re fine now, we won’t do that again, you’re okay, I promise.” 

He started pacing, humming muggle rock music like he’d seen Lily do a thousand times while rocking back and forth, praying it would work. Sure enough, Harry’s wails seemed to soften into cries - but before Remus could decide if he was imagining it or not, he heard a gurgling sound and felt something warm and wet drip onto the back of his shirt. Before he even had time to sigh, the little body in his arms went rigid, and let out a little whimper.

_He's_ _scared_ , Remus realized, heartbroken.

"Hey," He soothed, "Hey, it's alright Harry, don't fuss." He pressed a distracted kiss to his temple, pulling out his wand to vanish away the mess, “I probably deserved that.” He added, mostly to himself.

Harry was still nervous, but he seemed to be relaxing. He let out a few teary hiccups as Remus pulled him away from his shoulder enough to get a good look at him, summoning a napkin from the kitchen to wipe the last of the spit-up off of his chin, but quickly settled when he saw watching the cloth fly across the room.

The sight of his wide green eyes following the napkin gave Remus an idea. It had been a joke, by the time Harry was 9 months old or so, that they had to _work_ to impress him with magic – Remus could still hear Sirius’s uproarious laughter at the flat, bored expression on the baby’s face when he’d conjured a shower of harmless, colorful sparks around him, as if to say _yes, I’ve seen that already._

But if Harry had been 6 months without magic…

“Harry,” he said, voice low and conspiratorial. It soothed something in him to see that Harry seemed to recognize the tone, at least, because he stopped hiccupping to look at Remus curiously. “Can I show you something?”

With a wave of his wand, he conjured something simple – he didn’t have the mental energy for much else. He’d _meant_ for it to be a little cloud of rainbow butterflies, but he was tired, and his concentration was poor, so they ended up being little more than floating, colorful lights.

Harry was delighted all the same – the soft glow lit up his face and the tear tracks on his cheeks, but he wasn’t crying anymore, looking up at the poor illusion with wide-eyed wonder.

A tiny hand reached out, eager to catch one of the little lights, only to be yanked back with another pained whimper and cradled against the boy’s chest.

Remus’s stomach sank.

“Does your arm hurt?” He asked, more to fill the silence if anything else. Harry didn’t respond, just curled a little closer to Remus and put his head back on his shoulder. Sighing, Remus carried him over to the couch and set him down, kneeling in front of him to get a better look. Harry hunched over his arm protectively, and Remus resisted the urge to reach for it himself. He got the impression that there had been a lot of people grabbing at Harry these last few months without his permission. He didn't want to be one of them. “Can I see it?”

Harry eyed him, wary and unsure. “Moony fix?” He asked finally. Remus felt something in him _break_ , a brief surge of protective fury because Dumbledore – he’d just _left_ him there, he hadn’t even known, and what if those muggles – toddlers were so fragile, they could have _killed_ him without even meaning to, James and Lily’s sacrifice for _nothing_ -

He needed to focus. To answer, because Harry was frightened, and he’d spent far too much of his short life feeling that way for Remus to perpetuate it. He forced himself to smile, hoping that it didn’t look as strained as it felt.

“Yeah,” He agreed, “I’m gonna fix it. But you’ve got to give me your arm first – can you do that for me?”

After another moment of indecision, he got a nod, and Harry hesitantly extended his arm. Remus bit back a snarl at what he saw – the middle of his forearm, the same one he’d seen Petunia grab just hours ago, was red and swollen. He pulled out his wand, an _Episkey_ on his lips, but stopped himself before he could finish.

Was it _safe_ to use Episkey on a toddler? It had always been fine for _him_ , but toddlers were so fragile and what if he messed it up, made it _worse_ -

Okay, that was fine. No Episkey. He was fairly sure he had a few pain potions in his cupboards, he could just- But _could_ he give those to Harry? The dosage was fine for an _adult_ , but Harry was so tiny, and Remus had no idea how much was safe-

Fuck. _Fuck_.

What was he doing?

What was he _thinking_ , just bursting into Privet Drive like that, without a _plan?_ He didn’t know how to take care of a kid, couldn’t even if he _did_ – the Ministry would never give custody to a werewolf, even on the off chance he actually found steady employment. Merlin, he was so _stupid_ -

“Moony fix?” Harry asked again, little head cocked to the side curiously.

Remus felt his throat burn – 6 months worth of grief and fury and frustration welling up in his chest – and took a deep breath. He wasn’t helpless. He could do this.

He had to - there was no one else.

“Yeah, I am, I’m sorry. Just give me a second, here.” An idea came to him – not perfect, but it would do for now, at least. “ _Ferula_.” He muttered, watching bandages spring from his wand and wrap tightly around Harry’s arm.

He braced himself for the little whimper Harry let out and ran an apologetic hand through his wild hair. “I know,” He soothed, “I know, but it’ll feel better soon, I promise prongs-“

_Prongslet_.

That’s what Sirius had always called him, _prongslet_ , or occasionally _fawn_ , mostly to get Lily to roll her eyes. It sat heavy on his tongue, an ugly reminder of the man who had taken _everything_ from him.

_Well_ , he thought, meeting Harry’s watery gaze, _not everything_.

He summoned a dishrag, charming it to stay cold, and secured it to the splint on Harry’s arm in an attempt to mitigate the swelling.

“There,” He smiled, scooping Harry back up again, “That’s better.”

“Moony.” Harry agreed, curling back into Remus’s shoulder sleepily.

Oh, right – it was nearly 9pm, well after when (he assumed) toddlers were supposed to be asleep. 

He walked around his apartment, quietly putting up his wards and alarms for the first time in ages. He’d gotten lazy about it after _that night_ \- half out of grief that left him too tired to get out of bed most days, and half out of some furious, defiant hope that a death-eater _would_ show up at his door.

(Whether it was to fight or just finish him off, Remus could never quite decide.)

But he couldn’t do that anymore. Not with the child in his arms, already half-asleep, relying on him to stay alive. He couldn’t protect Harry if he was dead.

He carried Harry to his bedroom, the only one in the tiny cottage, and frowned down at the bed anxiously. Was it safe for him to sleep there? He remembered reading somewhere (in the baby books Sirius had insisted they all read, he remembered with a pang, _‘so we won’t be complete idiots if we have to watch him!’_ ) about it not being safe for a baby to sleep with a parent, or with too many blankets – but did Harry count? He was over a year old, and he could yell, and toddle around, and roll over-

In his arms, the boy let out a little yawn, and snuffled slightly, tucking himself further into Remus’s neck, and he sighed. He’d sleep on the couch, just to be safe.

He got the toddler arranged in his bed, bundled in an old quilt that _James_ of all people had made, in the middle of one of his manic-nesting phases during Lily’s pregnancy. And the _thought_ of that – that even though James was gone, the quilt he’d made was being used to keep his son warm and safe and happy – it made Remus grateful that the room was too dim for Harry to see if he was crying or not.

Rising carefully, he’d barely made it halfway across the room before Harry (who had certainly _looked_ fast asleep when Remus tucked him in) wailed, “ _Moony!”_

Remus turned on his heel, more out of instinct than anything else, and crouched down next to the bed. “It’s alright,” He soothed automatically, “What’s wrong?”

Harry let out a little sniffle and reached out to grab onto the front of his jumper with a surprisingly strong grip. “Moony _stay._ ”

In spite of – _everything_ – Remus couldn’t help but let out a ragged chuckle. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry. I’ll be just outside, yeah?”

The little hands did not slacken their grasp – if anything, they held on more firmly than before. “Moony _stay_.” He insisted, chin jutting out stubbornly.

And- _god_ , if Remus hadn’t seen that exact same expression on Lily’s face the mornings after a rough moon, demanding that he eat something and take his potions before she _made him_ , _Remus John Lupin_.

He never had been any good at saying no.

“Yeah,” he sighed. He scooped up Harry and sat down on the bed, before letting the toddler crawl into his lap – he doubted he’d be able to get much sleep tonight anyway, “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay. I’m right here.”

Harry let out a pleased hum, and settled on Remus's chest, softly chanting _moonymoonymoony_ to himself as he drifted off.

Cautiously, he reached out and laid a hand on the toddler’s back – felt the rise and fall of his lungs, the slow, steady beat of his heart, and thought about how he’d spent the last 6 months thinking he’d lost _everything_ when that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Seeing Harry _here_ – safe, sleeping, warm – soothed the righteous anger that had been burning in his chest since he saw Petunia slap him – and wasn’t it bizarre to realize that had been mere _hours_ ago? It felt like lifetimes.

It felt like he was an entirely different person.

He looked down at the sleeping toddler on his chest, at the wild mess of black hair.

_Alright, Harry. Now what?_

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you ~~kidnap~~ adopt your dead best friends' son to cope
> 
> [tumblr](www.rexcorvidae.tumblr.com)
> 
> might turn this into a series if there's sufficient interest so if you wanna see more lmk!


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